


Scarred

by SolaHaze



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diseases perceived as punishments from god, Historical Fantasy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Medieval perception of deformity, Potential shireen baratheon reference, Religion, fear of God
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:40:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26877571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolaHaze/pseuds/SolaHaze
Summary: "Mommy, am I ugly?" What happens when you know something is wrong, yet society tells you it's right?(note: I wrote this for an English assignment and my teacher thought it was a great, impactful piece that I should submit to a competition. I appreciate feedback. I know the summary doesn't look like much, but I've been told it's very good.)





	Scarred

“Mommy, am I ugly?”

That was the first time Cecilia had ever asked her something like that. Guinevere weighed her answer, watching as her “daughter” combed her long pale hair before a mirror. 

“No, sweetie,” she said, though her answer sounded like a lie even to her own ears.

Cecilia frowned, staring at her reflection. The face, young and pale, yet scarred with dry, scaly patches across it, stared back. “Then why does everyone look at me funny?”

Guinevere pursed her lips, unsure of how to answer. What could she even say?

Cecilia’s eyes burned into her, wide and innocent, yet accusing and scrutinizing. “And why don’t you visit me more?” she demanded, her brows knitting. “Why doesn’t Father visit me more? Why won’t you touch me? Why won’t you hug me?”

“...”

After a few moments, Cecilia’s gaze fell to the ground, her voice quiet, probing, but weak. “...Is it because I’m ugly?”

Guinevere’s mouth fell agape, but she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t lie to her “daughter”. But she couldn’t remain silent. “Darling… when you were born… something terrible happened to you.”

Cecilia already knew the story. 

“You were different. You’ve seen your face, you know what is there... Something cursed you, took away what made you human…”

Cecilia gazed at her own reflection, a hand gently touching her scarred flesh. “...Is that why he’s trying to cure me?”

Guinevere sighed, taking a seat in one of the chairs brought in for her; she was not allowed to sit in Cecilia’s chairs. “Yes darling,” she said in what she hoped was a soothing tone. “Silas is doing everything he can. He only wants to help you, so you can go to Heaven like the rest of us.”

Cecilia’s eyes dropped from the mirror, down to the cuff of her sleeve where the edge of a scar peeked out. “But he hurts me, mommy.” She turned in her seat, her eyes focusing on Guinevere intensely, one blue, one spotty and flecked with black, not blind but still marred. “How does that help me?”

Guinevere cleared her throat, shifting in her seat. Her mouth felt dry. “Silas is the Archbishop of the Church, and he’s also a family friend. You must trust him, for his actions are just and true.” Her tone was cold and pious but softened as she forced herself to meet her “daughter’s” eyes. She was so young, so innocent. She didn’t understand…

She clasped her hands as she leaned forward, but not too close, arranging her features into a sad smile. “I love you, darling, and because of that I’m willing to take any actions necessary to make you whole again.”

Cecilia was silent for a moment, her soul-searching eyes breaking from Guinevere’s face as she turned back to the mirror. She spoke softly. “Mommy, can you braid my hair?”

Guinevere hesitated, feeling a small tug in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t meant to touch Cecilia. She hadn’t touched her since she was born six years ago. None of them had, only Thein, her attendant. She had to refuse; she had no choice. Thankfully, there was a knock at the door. Guinevere stood up with haste, smoothing out her dress. “I’m… I’m sorry, dear. It looks like my visiting time’s up.”

Cecilia rose from her seat, a devastated look on her face. “Can’t… can’t you stay longer?”

Guinevere quickly shook her head, not looking back as she hurried towards the door. “No, but I’ll be back soon.” If she remained here a moment longer she would break down. She had to go.

A servant entered as soon as she opened the door, retrieving her chair. He followed her out and shut the door tightly. Once she was out, Guinevere took a moment to breathe, combing her fingers through her strawberry blonde hair to calm her nerves.

“Guinevere…”

She looked up, meeting the grey eyes of her husband, Eristan. She felt her own eyes fill with tears as she threw herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his body, her tears staining his robes. Eristan’s arms wrapped around her shoulders, holding her tightly as her composure shattered.

“This is my fault,” he whispered. “This is a punishment from God, a punishment for some wrong I’ve committed. It is my fault Cecilia was born as this demon.” 

He pulled her back, raising his sleeve to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Every time you leave her, you’re like this. You should stop visiting her so much. It’s dangerous.” 

Guinevere suddenly pulled herself from his grasp, shoving him away. “She’s only a child, Eristan!”

There was a look of surprise on his face, but it hardened into a stern frown. “Yes, a child who’s been marked by the devil himself.” He took a step forward, reaching out to touch her face. “You must stay away from her, Guinevere. I don’t want you to be marked as well.”

In a violent motion, she smacked his hand away, livid with fury. “For too long we’ve tasked Thein with being her sole caretaker. She’s still our daughter.” Her words were spat like venom. She crossed her arms, turning sharply to the side, her tone drenched with disgust. “You don’t even visit her. She doesn’t even know what you look like!”

Eristan growled. “Perhaps that is why I can think more clearly!” His voice boomed loudly in the corridor. The man pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a moment to compose himself, lest he be too spiteful again. “...It’s for our safety.” He stepped forward, gently taking her shoulder in his hand, and she allowed herself to be turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed red, but she did not glare. Eristan sighed, leaning forward to press a light kiss to her forehead.

“You need to understand. If you are marked, you will not go to Heaven.” He held her shoulders in a firm, yet caring grip. “You must stay away from her until she is cured. You have to think about the rest of us.” His voice was but a whisper. “You need to think of your other children. James, Everett: they need you. They cannot lose you...  _ I _ cannot lose you."

Guinevere grimaced, her voice weak. “She’s so lonely, darling…” 

Eristan gently brought her forth, resting her head against his chest. “I know, but when she is unmarked, she will be lonely no more,” he whispered, calmingly stroking her reddish-blonde curls. “Silas is coming by tonight to attempt another curing. Hopefully, this one will work.”

* * *

Thein’s footfalls were gentle on the carpet. Cecilia sat before the fireplace, the light casting a dark shadow behind her. She glanced up at him, and he saw the worry in her eyes.

He knelt down next to her. Sitting on the ground, Thein’s height matched her own. He was not a tall man. He adjusted his spectacles as he looked her over. “How are your scars, little one?”

She looked back to the fire, which cast an orange glow on her features. From this side, he only saw the unmarred skin. “Which ones?” she asked, sounding bitter. “The devil marks or the angel ones?”

Thein’s bushy eyebrows furrowed as he frowned. “...The angel ones.”

Cecilia turned her back to him and reached up to unbutton her collar. Slowly, she slid it from her shoulders, revealing the skin beneath. Scars upon scars crisscrossed from so many attempted “curings”. Burns littered here and there in shapes of the sun. When he looked closely, he could see the etchings of scripture upon her arms. Simply the view brought Thein close to tears.

“I see he’s taught you the tenets,” he said, gently touching the words. Cecilia shrugged away. Thein’s heart wrenched.

“They… they feel better,” she whispered.

Thein nodded, looking over the other scars. “They’re almost healed…” he muttered. “It’s only been a week.”

Her head turned, the scarred side of her face looking back at him with a hopeful glint. “Do you think that means it’s working?”

Thein’s throat felt dry. He looked away, silently pulling her dress back over her shoulders without an answer. “Come, little one, we should read.”

Settling together before the fire, Thein brought up her favourite book: a fairytale about a princess who is rescued from a dragon by a knight. Cecilia sat in Thein’s lap and held the book as Thein turned the pages and read over her shoulder.

“One day, I’m gonna meet a prince,” she said. “And a dragon, too. I think it would be nice to meet a dragon.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Thein said. “Dragons can be quite scary. The good ones and the bad ones both.”

“Scarier than God?”

That question caught him off guard. “God isn’t meant to be scary, Cecilia. He’s meant to be loved. He’s meant to guide.”

“Oh,” she said. There was silence for a moment, and then… “Do you think God will save me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think God will fix me,” she repeated, “so I’ll be all better? So I can leave and see mommy and daddy and my brothers.”

Thein opened his mouth, but couldn’t think what to say. He hummed quietly, staring at the fire for a moment. “God works in mysterious ways… do you believe God will fix you?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation.

“Then he will.” 

A loud chime echoed through the western wing of the castle. It was almost time. Thein pulled Cecilia to her feet, doing up the last few buttons at her neck. “Go,” he told her. “Wash up, brush your hair, put on a nice gown, and grab your bible. He’ll be here soon.” 

She nodded, hurrying off down a corridor. Thein frowned, turning around and making his way through the wing to where the door was. He had just reached it as a knock came through the wood. The short man took the knob and opened the door, knowing better than to hesitate.

In the hallway beyond stood a man so tall he towered above Thein. He wore a long red robe, the hood up, shrouding his face. From beneath the hood, long white hair fell down his shoulders, and in the dark shadow, he could see two luminescent eyes gazing out. He stood motionless, his hands clasped, waiting to be let in. 

Thein swallowed, stepping aside, and the man entered without a word, walking a straight line towards the common room. Thein closed the door behind him, and for a moment he stood there, leaning against it. He felt the heavy weight of guilt pull on his heart. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. She was only a child. And yet, God allowed this to happen.

Perhaps God truly was not real.


End file.
